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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24119149">A Fine Spring Day in Camelot</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf/pseuds/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf'>0hHeyThereBigBadWolf</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tales of a Dragon and His Prince [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Acceptance, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Arthur is a Worried Boyfriend Before They're Even Boyfriends, Canon-Typical Violence, Caring Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Do Not Re-Post To Another Site, Dragon Merlin (Merlin), Gen, Minor Violence, Mythical Beings &amp; Creatures, Pre-Relationship, Some Humor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:15:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,072</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24119149</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf/pseuds/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They cannot have even one hunt without something going wrong on some level. A horse throws a shoe. A crossbow string breaks. A storm blows in. A giant beast attacks. Merlin turns into a dragon. The usual things.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Merlin &amp; Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tales of a Dragon and His Prince [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737112</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>949</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Fine Spring Day in Camelot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Spring is unequivocally Arthur's favourite time of year, or at least it is after months of forced inactivity over the winter. The forest is greening, the sun is bright, and the weather is just right as it only is for a few days of the season. There may not be a great deal of game about yet, but that's no reason for him not to go on at least one good hunt every now and again. Even if that means having to listen to his useless excuse of a manservant moan and whinge for hours on end.</p>
<p>"Look here, Merlin. A hart. Large one, I'd say," Arthur estimates, leaning over in the saddle to peer at the damp-soft ground of the deer trail. "Come on, we'll have venison for supper tonight."</p>
<p>"And <em>then</em> can we go back to Camelot?" Merlin asks with entirely uncalled-for theatrics, slumped over the neck of his horse like a man dying. "Gaius wants me to replenish his stock."</p>
<p>"Your precious flowers aren't going anywhere. Our stag is. Come on." Gathering up the reins, he heels his horse, but the filly only dances under him, sidestepping and giving a snort. Frowning a little, he nudges her again, but she tosses her head and takes a step backwards instead, ears pinned back to her head.</p>
<p>"Arthur…?" Merlin's voice sounds uncertain.</p>
<p>"Quiet." Something must be spooking them quite badly. This is his usual mount for hunting trips, and she's never shied at anything before, not hounds or foxes or even bears. Keeping the reins in one hand, he settles his crossbow in the other, looking around, but there's nothing to be seen, not a leaf stirring or a twig snapping. "Merlin, your magic, can you sense—?"</p>
<p>Suddenly, the world <em>lurches</em> as his filly rears, giving a terrified squeal, and Arthur tumbles backwards over her hindquarters to land on his back on the ground. The impact drives every bit of air from his chest; for a moment, all he can do is lay there and stare up at the branches overhead, trying to breathe again, gasping, gasping. And then the sun disappears as a great shape blocks it out, a roar louder than life making the entire <em>forest</em> shudder around them. A lion, only monstrously huge, as big as the griffin had been, tawny wings sprouting from its back, flared wide as it drops down from the sky towards him, all white claws and red maw—</p>
<p>
  <em>"Arthur!"</em>
</p>
<p>The air turns blistering hot, as though the door of some enormous oven has been opened behind him, and a great black shape passes over his head so close it stirs his hair. The shape collides with the winged lion, and they go tumbling over one another to the ground, smashing into a tree with a great splintering of wood.</p>
<p>Arthur pushes himself up on his elbows, gaping.</p>
<p>It's a dragon.</p>
<p>Nearly of size with the lion, only lean and long, all tail and neck, with black-purple-blue scales rippling over its form. Twisting itself free of the dragon, the lion shakes out its mane and roars, and the dragon snarls in response, a spined frill fanning around its head in response. In an instant, the two are at one another, fang and fur and claw and scale, and all Arthur can do is watch, crossbow forgotten beside him. The stink of burning hair fills the air as the dragon releases a bout of green-tinted flame, and the lion yowls, scrabbling away with black-scorched haunches. Two flaps of its tawny wings, and then it is gone, rising away through the trees.</p>
<p>The dragon hisses a final time, venting smoke through its bloodied teeth, but then its legs buckle out from beneath it, collapsing down to its side. Now that it's still, Arthur can see one shoulder has been savagely bitten, claw-gouges raking over its foreleg, blood oozing out between its scales. The sleek horned head turns towards him, golden eyes familiar before it even speaks, words articulated cleanly past those wicked sharp teeth. "Arthur, are you all right?"</p>
<p><em>"Merlin…" </em>he exhales, sitting up slowly.</p>
<p>"Are you all right?" the dragon—Merlin, gods, it's <em>Merlin</em>—repeats.</p>
<p>Arthur bobs his head quickly as he gains his feet, only a touch unsteady, and he wobbles a few steps closer. "Are <em>you</em> all right? Gods, your shoulder…"</p>
<p>"I'll live." Merlin lifts his head. "Come on, we need to get away from here in case it comes back." With some effort, he gains his feet as well, or at least three of them, his injured foreleg raised and tucked to his breast.</p>
<p>Arthur trails alongside the dragon, dazed; Merlin manages only a shuffling limp, but he still makes good pace, considering how long his legs are now. They make their way to another clearing some distance away, a hollow that's only just large enough for them, and Merlin sinks down to his belly with a little huff, leaning on his uninjured side.</p>
<p>He pauses a moment, then goes to sit down beside Merlin, facing him, crossbow an afterthought beside him; he's not certain how long he sits there, arms hooked around his knees, staring at nothing in particular. Every bit of him aches from being thrown, though he's at least grateful he landed on clear ground, no stones or roots to break his bones on. Eventually, his voice comes back to him, in slow bits and pieces. It still takes him two attempts before he can clear his throat and speak. "So…you can turn yourself into a dragon." Gods, it sounds mad to even say it aloud.</p>
<p>"Yes, I can." Merlin lowers his chin to rest on a small jut of stone. "Surprise?"</p>
<p>Arthur shakes his head, smiling slowly. "No wonder you're so damned reckless." He's lost count of how many times he's yanked Merlin away from a cliff edge or a river or a trap, how many times Merlin has practically sauntered into danger, no armour, no weapon, following trained knights into battle without a care in the world. At the end of the day, it isn't a lack of self-preservation or some misguided bravery. It's nothing but lazy <em>confidence.</em> Merlin is scarier than just about everything in this kingdom, save the King.</p>
<p>"Have you always been able to…?" He gestures with a hand towards Merlin's dragon-shape.</p>
<p>"No, not until Father…" Merlin trails off, his bulk shifting, and when he blinks, a second set of clear lids slide over his eyes as well.</p>
<p>Arthur nods once, understanding.</p>
<p>It makes sense, of course, a Dragonlord being able to become a dragon, and he stares off into the air for a moment, realising that also meant that Balinor had been able to do the same. Suddenly, he's quite glad the other man hadn't turned him into a bit of char on the floor of his cave. Hunith must've known, too; he can't imagine Balinor wouldn't have told her. Which meant she had known he could become a dragon—or was he a dragon that could become a man?—and she had still chosen to love him, to have a child with him, and— No. Absolutely not. He is <em>not</em> thinking about that. He has salted and burnt any thought of his father and the troll, and he is not thinking about this either. There are some things in this world one is simply not meant to contemplate, and the relationships of one's parents is one of those things, even if it is a friend's parents.</p>
<p>Instead, he turns his focus back towards the dragon that had been his manservant, getting to his feet and stepping closer to study the damage. "Is there anything I can…help you with?" he asks a little helplessly, sketching a gesture towards the rather gruesome looking bites on Merlin's foreleg and shoulder.</p>
<p>"Not really. I'll heal, I just need to be still for a while." He tilts his head slightly, one eye rolling back to look at him. "I won't be able to change back until then, though. It'll open it all up again."</p>
<p>"It's fine. We'll stay out here for a while." Without thinking about it, Arthur reaches up and strokes a hand over the sinewy arch of Merlin's neck. Petting a dragon may not be the wisest idea if one intends to keep all their limbs, but it's still <em>Merlin.</em> Sorcerer, dragon, whatever he is, Merlin is about as threatening as a damp kitten. Not to mention, Arthur has never been so close to a dragon that wasn't trying to incinerate or possibly eat him, and he is curiously fascinated.</p>
<p>Under his hand, the scales are warm and surprisingly smooth, laid together snugly so there's only a faint ridge separating the scales, shallow enough not to hold the point of a blade or claw. Black all over, save for an incongruous splash of cream colouring down the chin and throat, rippling with hues of deep blue-purple like raven feathers when the light falls over them. He smooths his hand over the warm, scaly hide slowly, moving up towards the dragon's head. The scales are smaller, thinner behind his ears, the flesh warmer, and when he brushes his thumb over them, the dragon's ear twitches. "Does that hurt?"</p>
<p>"Mm-mm. S'nice," Merlin replies, eyes closed to golden slits.</p>
<p>The corner of his mouth quirks up as he repeats the gentle motion, stroking the soft spot with his thumb. "Where'd your…spines go?" he asks, making a gesture with his other hand towards his own head.</p>
<p>There's a leathery rustle as the frill extends a bit, just before Merlin's ears; they hadn't disappeared, and he hadn't imagined them. They fold up underneath the crest. "They come down when I fight. Cover my ears, protect my neck."</p>
<p>"Sensible." Curious, he grasps one of said ears, ignoring Merlin's twitch of surprise. They're even warmer than the soft spot on his neck and entirely unscaled, the hide thin and soft, like finest leather. He's reminded almost of a bat's wing. And then he realises that dragon or not, he is sitting here <em>petting Merlin's ear,</em> and he snatches his hand away. "Well, you, ah…wait here. I'll gather some firewood and see if I can't find the horses," he says, hastily getting to his feet and brushing off his trousers.</p>
<p>It isn't much use, though. The horses had both bolted when the lion attacked, in different directions no less, and even if he could run them down on foot, he doubts they'd come anywhere near Merlin like this. Perhaps they would. They like him well enough when he's a man, so would it make a difference when he's a dragon? Did the scent of him change? Do they still know he's a predator? Now that he thinks about it, the dogs always go mad whenever Merlin visits the kennel, to the point where Arthur's had to pick which to take with him on a hunt, since both is out of the question. They won't properly attack him, but they'll do nothing but howl and bay when he's around, feinting at his legs, leaping away if he moves towards them. But the horses like him. Even Kay's absolute <em>bastard</em> of a warhorse likes Merlin.</p>
<p>It's entirely contradictory. Yet wholly Merlin.</p>
<p>When he returns to the hollow, Merlin's not moved at all, unsurprisingly. Perfectly still, he almost blends into the shadows and dark rock behind him; only the deep rise and fall of his flank as he breathes gives him away. His molten eyes open when Arthur dumps an armload of firewood on the ground. "Some of it's a bit damp, but I suppose if I leave it close to the fire, it'll dry enough to use later," he says idly, wanting to fill the quiet that's normally filled by Merlin's chatter.</p>
<p>"Listen to you, building your own campfire like an adult."</p>
<p>He throws a stick at Merlin's flank. "Contrary to your beliefs, idiot, I did survive on hunts before you came along," he retorts.</p>
<p>"Mm, yes, I'm certain."</p>
<p>Rolling his eyes, he finishes sorting through the firewood, then starts arranging the small twigs around the kindling. "Of course, it would help if I had flint and steel, but the horses are long since gone, and—"</p>
<p>Merlin turns his head and coughs a plume of flame into the kindling, setting it quite merrily alight in an instant.</p>
<p>"Or you could always do that," he laughs, feeling only a bit foolish. He feeds the fire the drier pieces of wood, then arranges the others nearby to dry in the heat; sitting back on his heels, he looks back up at his manservant. "I still have my crossbow. Are you…hungry at all?" Merlin eats enough for two men when he's in <em>human</em> form; Arthur can only imagine how much Merlin as a <em>dragon</em> can eat.</p>
<p>"I'll eat in the morning." Merlin yawns, showing off a rather terrifying array of teeth, some of which are as long as Arthur's entire forearm, a forked red tongue curling between them. "You know, you are taking all of this…alarmingly well. Should I be worried?"</p>
<p>Arthur gives a weak laugh. "Merlin, living with you has lowered my register for bizarre happenings a great deal. Or do you not recall the instance with the goblin?" he poses.</p>
<p>A dragon cannot truly smile, their muzzles not being shaped for it, but he can almost <em>feel</em> Merlin's smirk, and he waggles his ears at Arthur.</p>
<p>"Insolent in any form, I see."</p>
<p>A dragon's laugh sounds like grinding stone, but it sounds like Merlin nonetheless.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he wakes up, it's to a hand on his shoulder, a very human hand, gently shaking him awake.</p>
<p>Instantly awake, he opens his eyes to see Merlin crouched on his heels beside him. His manservant looks much as he always does, in his ratty jacket and frayed red neckerchief and too-big blue tunic, as though he hadn't spent most of the day before scaled and winged. The fire is still going, and he can smell fish cooking. It makes his stomach rumble, reminding him he's not eaten since breakfast yesterday, but when he sits up, he catches Merlin's wrist in one hand before the other man can move away. "Let me see."</p>
<p>"Arthur, it's fine—"</p>
<p>"I said, let me <em> see."</em></p>
<p>Merlin stares at him for a moment, letting Arthur keep hold of his wrist—<em>lets</em> him, he's only ever<em> allowed</em> Arthur manhandle him—but then he draws his arm away and loosens his neckerchief, holding it aside to pull open his jacket and tunic. What had been savage bites has now healed over into only tender red weals, already fading. Arthur's had worse in training. "It'll be gone by the time we get back to Camelot. They weren't that deep," he says, fixing his clothes.</p>
<p>Not that deep? Then again, Merlin thinks being run through qualifies as a flesh wound, so he's not certain why he's so surprised. "It certainly looked worse, then."</p>
<p>"It did. Now, are you going to eat?"</p>
<p>Arthur glances towards the fire, seeing a pair of small but fat fish roasting by the fire, crisped skin splitting and oozing fragrant juices; his stomach gives him another pointed reminder of its existence. And an audible one, if Merlin's smirk is anything to go by. "Yes, but then we've got to start heading back to Camelot. It'll be a long walk without the horses," he answers, already holding out a hand for one of the fish. As he eats carefully, trying not to burn his fingers, he notices Merlin is leaving the other fish untouched in favour of putting out the fire. "Aren't you going to eat?"</p>
<p>Merlin gives him a little smile. "I caught seven."</p>
<p>"Ah." Arthur freezes with a bit of fish halfway to his mouth when Merlin reaches into the fire barehanded, patting it down into the dirt and sweeping loose soil over the embers.</p>
<p>When he notices Arthur's stare, the young man gives a sheepish grin and brushes the soot off his hands. "Fire cannot harm a dragon."</p>
<p>After two attempts, he manages to swallow. "Very impressive."</p>
<p>Once he's finished the rest of his breakfast and Merlin's finished smothering the fire, they start the unfortunate lengthy walk back to Camelot. They had ridden a fair distance into the forest for the hunt, which means a great deal of walking. Arthur carries his crossbow himself, pretending not to hear when Merlin offers to take it from him; even if Merlin says he's healed up enough, the younger man is a bit paler than is wont, stumbling more than he usually does. Gradually, the trees begin to thin out, more sun spilling through the canopy.</p>
<p>"Did you not sleep?" Arthur asks after Merlin's fourth yawn, having to catch his elbow before he trips.</p>
<p>"I did, but I'm still not used to slipping my skin, and changing in haste is tiring." Merlin rubs the heel of a hand over his eyes. "Not to mention healing myself so quick takes energy, too."</p>
<p>Arthur nods. A sigh of relief slips from his lips as they reach the forest edge. In the distance, he can see Camelot, gleaming white between the blue and green of sky and earth, and the familiar sight of<em> home</em> makes his heart leap in his chest. "So, you can do all of…" He gestures towards Merlin's everything. "…that whenever you wish?"</p>
<p>"Mm-hm. Once I have more practice, it won't tire me so much." Merlin turns his head a bit towards the morning sun with a small, pleased sigh; Arthur wonders if dragons sun themselves on hot stone like lizards and serpents do.</p>
<p>They walk in silence for a while, the only sound being the whispering of the tall grasses around their legs, the distant piping of birdsong. "Does it…hurt at all? To change your shape?"</p>
<p>"No." Merlin's voice is soft, the corner of his mouth lifting. "No, it doesn't."</p>
<p>"Well, then…." Arthur adjusts his grip on the crossbow, shifting it to his other arm. "Perhaps, the next time we ride out here…you can show me how a dragon hunts. I prefer venison over fish for breakfast."</p>
<p>The ghost of a smile becomes a full grin, flashing white teeth. "Yes, sire." Merlin's voice takes on a decidedly sly note as he adds, "And perhaps, if it please your royal fancy, I can show you what your kingdom looks like from above."</p>
<p>Arthur drops the crossbow on his foot.</p>
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